


gravity

by BlackJacketsandPens



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: I WILL PILOT THIS TUGBOAT MYSELF IF I HAVE TO, M/M, bunch of one shots from tumblr and more, the anxiety science dad and the obnoxious space dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 19:01:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15419517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackJacketsandPens/pseuds/BlackJacketsandPens
Summary: The laws of physics are absolute; science deals in that sort of certainty. But around Braig, those laws seem to bend; and like gravity, Even can't seem to keep from being pulled in. And Braig? Somehow he knows how to find the warmth beneath the ice.A bunch of Braig/Even (and possibly Xigbar/Vexen) oneshots, some of which mildly canon divergent.





	1. surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in Braig's sixth or so year in Radiant Garden, four years before its fall.

If there was one thing Even hated – well, alright, there were a great many things Even hated, enough that there jokes about alphabetizing a list – it was surprises. He _hated_ surprises. Not the general concept of them, really – well, alright, so he hated change, and that made most possible surprises immediately detestable – but mostly the… _suddenness_ of them.

His nerves were not the best, honestly, and he knew that, and he hated having to come down from a near panic every time something startled him. And surprises, as a general rule, were meant to startle. Therefore, he did not like surprises. A very simple formula.

However…ever since Ienzo’s arrival at the castle a year ago, their other guest had certainly surprised them all. And that was something Even couldn’t actually say he disliked.

Braig had been a miserable wreck the first five years of his presence in the garden, drunk more than sober and a bony and sullen shadow around the castle when he ventured out of his room, barely speaking to anyone if he ever bothered to go anywhere near them. But Ienzo had arrived last year, and Braig…well, if a child had been all it took to start actually making the man recover, why, Even wished they’d thought of it sooner. There were no shortage of children in the garden to send him to babysit, after all. 

Whatever the case may be, the man had finally started acting like a member of the living again, and had even accepted a post as a third member of King Ansem’s personal guard. He cleaned up well, Even had to admit, even if he still insisted on wearing that battered old bandanna. The only problem, though, was that more of Braig’s actual personality resurfaced…

“Hey, Ev’!” 

Even shrieked at the voice right behind him, nearly dropping his book as he jumped a few inches in the air. “Braig!” He shrilled, whipping around to smack him with the hardbound tome (earning a startled yelp, much to his petty glee). “What have I _told_ you about sneaking up on me?!”

“Don’t?” Braig said, voice slightly muffled from behind his hand. He’d apparently decided to appear behind him in midair, upside down with his head at Even’s shoulder – and he’d smacked him right in the face because of it. Well, it was his own damned fault for abusing those odd spacial-warping powers of his, something he and the king still couldn’t explain. “Sorry, sorry, but c’mon, there’s somethin’ I gotta show ya!”

Before Even could quite protest, Braig’s free hand had come out and wrapped around his wrist, and with a faint whistling noise, they both disappeared.

When they reappeared, Even nearly fell, but found himself caught by Braig, who’d righted himself properly to stand beside him. They were at least half a foot’s difference between them in height, but the shorter of the two managed alright, helping Even steady himself and then pointing, linking an arm with him. “Ya forgot what today is,” he said with no small amount of amusement in his voice. “Cooped up in th’lab an’ all.”

“I’m surprised you remembered it was a holiday at all,” Even said wryly – was it a holiday? It had to be, if Braig was bringing up the date. Oops, he _had_ forgotten, then…but really, the point stood. “You haven’t been celebrating them, after all.”

“Jus’ cause I wasn’t participatin’ doesn’t mean I didn’t listen,” Braig said, tugging his arm again. “Now _look._ ”

Even blinked, and then turned – and realized two things at once.

The first was that they were outside now, near the very top of the Garden’s castle, on a ledge – safely, he told himself, it was a rather large and flat one and they were in no danger – that honestly he couldn’t see how to get up to besides with Braig’s powers.

The second was the realization that it was the last day of the summer festival – the last _night,_ in fact. One of two holidays where not only did Ansem leave the lab (he’d _wondered_ why it got quiet…), he oversaw the setting off of magical fireworks for the partygoers and the rest of the city. He imagined Aeleus had taken Ienzo to watch, and… _oh._

The fireworks were starting, and from this vantage point…they were almost level with the bright bursts of color and light, showering a shimmering prism of light upon the garden, glittering all the rainbow and dusting on the sea of rooftops, the sea of people in the streets amid strung lights like fireflies, sitting on rooftops, some shooting off smaller ones sold at stands, little starbursts compared to the massive display above. It was the most beautiful thing Even thought he’d ever seen – the Radiant Garden, _truly_ radiant from this angle, a microcosm of why this world was so loved.

“What d’ya think?” Braig said, shaking him out of his reverie and making him realize both that the other man’s arm was still linked with his, and that the other man was watching him with a smile – still a rare sight, but growing far more common of late – on his face. “I thought ya’d like it. Didn’t want ya t’miss th’ show, an’…didn’t wanna watch it up here alone.” There was something in his voice as he said that, that soft melancholy that still clung to him, a remnant of the last five years’ despair, and Even smiled back.

“It’s lovely, Braig,” he said. “Thank you.”

Really…Braig was full of surprises. And for once – Even didn’t hate that idea. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen. Listen, this is my OTP and I can't believe it happened. So I'm going to share most of my oneshots and things with you, and if anyone ever has ideas throw them at me, 'cause I'll never not have muse for these.


	2. upside down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set before chapter one, Braig's first year in the Garden.
> 
> Kind of a short one, but I really do like playing with my Braig during the first couple years he's in the Garden, when he's a miserable asshole. It's fun.

The man had been in the Garden for a few months now– though it was hard to recall that when one hardly ever _saw_ him. Ansem had taken him in, of course, but that didn’t count for much when he seemed to avoid everyone save for when he was scolded for drinking too much. Even wasn’t honestly sure it was a good idea to keep this one around, even as curious as they both were about where he’d come from and how he’d gotten here.

Was it really worth it, though? Hmm.

He was in the library, reading a book – one of the many books on alchemy that it had, possibly for a second or third time; there were only so many books here, after all – when a faint yelp and a thud caught his attention. He looked up, blinking, and upon not seeing anything, returned to his book. 

Of course, another yelp a few moments later made him look up again, and this time he put the book down with a frown as he stood. “Hello?” He asked. “Who’s there?” There were only three other people in the castle, after all, right? Dilan, Aeleus, and Ansem…oh. Oh, right. And Braig. But he wouldn’t have come into the library while someone else was here…and what was that _thump?_

“Come on, now,” Even said irritably when there was no answer. “I’ve already heard you. I know you’re there, no point in hiding.”

Silence for a long moment, and a faint cough. “…’m up here,” came a voice, unfamiliar for a moment until Even placed it as Braig. Up…where? Even’s eyes flickered to the balcony, and saw nothing. “ _Up._ ” The man repeated, and – no, that was _impossible_ – Even looked to the ceiling, disbelieving. 

And there the man was, actually _sitting on the ceiling._ He was upside down, the ends of his bandanna hanging down but otherwise no sign at all that anything was out of place or amiss. His drawn, haunted face held a trace of sheepishness in it, for once showing emotion, and he held up a hand. “Hi.”

“How in the–” Even sputtered. “How– what– _what?!”_

Braig just lifted his shoulders helplessly. “Dunno,” he admitted. “S’happened…a couple times now. It wears off after a bit, whatever it is, but it never happened in a room this tall before, so.” 

“Go back to the part where this has happened before,” Even demanded, his voice still shrill. “When?! _Here?!_ And you don’t know what’s–”

Braig’s eyes narrowed. Ah, there was the irritable misanthrope. The almost civil surprise couldn’t last forever, he supposed. “I _said_ I _didn’t_ ,” he said curtly. “Only started happenin’ once I got here. Now are you gonna get me down?”

Even stared up at him, seriously contemplating letting him fall the thirty-five or so feet. Then he sighed, standing, and cast Gravity on the man, tugging him down to the ground at a less immediate pace. Braig grabbed one of the bookshelves immediately upon hitting the ground, carefully pulling himself up before slowly letting go. He did not leave the ground, so he sighed shortly and crossed his arms.

“….thanks,” he muttered, and brushed past Even to leave the room.

Even spun. “Braig!” He called. “Wait! We need to–” And he was gone. Damn it! He’d have to bring this to Ansem’s attention…powers like this, and just as new to him, too…that couldn’t be good. For them, or…or for Braig.

And even if, he thought, Braig was an insufferable misanthrope who clearly hated them all…he was now their responsibility, one of theirs, and they weren’t going to let anything happen to him.


	3. snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set before chapter one and probably slightly after chapter two, the first year Braig was in Radiant Garden.

Frost rimed the windows of the Garden’s castle – probably every window of the world, too. It was winter, and Braig, folded into one of the windowseats in the library, was staring vacantly out into the city and the snow drifting gently down onto the rooftops.

This was his first winter in this new world, wasn’t it? He’d seen so many winters on Airelann, and seven winters across the worlds while they were still connected…now, though, now he was trapped here. And for all he knew, this would be the place he’d spent every winter from now on. Part of him resents it, part of him still resents every single person in this castle and everyone who keeps telling him they’re _sorry_. What do they know about what he’s suffered? The loss of his family, his _world_ , his everything, the painful and terrible search without ever getting closer to finding what he was looking for, and then…and then this. The worlds ending, ripped from the catastrophe and thrown here to this place where no one knows him, trapped forever in this place with people who pity him but don’t understand.

But part of him’s relieved everything’s over. He’s so fucking _tired._

He lets out a long breath, absently sketching a stick family in the mist on the window, and jumps when the door to the library creaks open.

“–Oh,” comes a voice behind him, and he turns to face…what was his name? The blond, ah…scientist, or whatever. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

Braig sighs, shaking his head. “S’fine,” he mutters, wiping away the stick figures with a swipe of his hand. “Ignore me.” He pauses, glancing at the man as he heads to one of the shelves, fussing with the armload of tomes he has. “Don’t you have anything better to do on a nice winter morning like this?”

“Not especially,” the blond – _Even!_ That was it. – shrugs. “I have a project I’m working on that takes precedence over any frivolity.“

Braig makes a soft noise. “Huh,” he says. “One way to think, I guess.”

There’s a long silence, and Even finishes putting the books away, taking a few more, before he stops to watch Braig in turn. He has to wonder, then, what these people think of him. The king’s guest from another world, a skinny figure in a tattered red bandanna prowling the halls and staring at them all sullenly, nursing his pain.

“Braig, right?” He asks. “To return the question, why aren’t you out and about? I would expect you to be at least somewhat curious as to the place you’ve found yourself in.” He looks curious, but Braig snorts.

“Not really,” he mutters. “I didn’t _ask_ to get dumped here.”

Even raises his brows. “Well, no, I would imagine not. But here you are anyway. Making yourself miserable over something you can’t do anything about isn’t exactly a grand plan.”

“Then what _should_ I do?” Braig snaps. “What _can_ I do?”

“Don’t ask _me_ ,” Even says coolly. “Ask yourself or King Ansem. I’m sure he can find you something to do depending on what skills you have.”

Braig lets out an irritated snarl and turns away, crossing his arms and returning to stare out the window. He hears Even scoff and then footsteps click away, and a door shutting. He’s alone, then? Good.

_Good._


	4. trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set post KH3D, slightly canon divergent.
> 
> Where else is Braig (Xigbar?) going to go? Even if they hate him, it's the only home he has.

Has Even left his lab once in the days since Aeleus finally deemed him stable enough to leave his bed? No. No, he has not. 

Well…calling it his lab is inaccurate, truly, but calling it Ansem’s lab _hurts_. And with this new-old heart of his, he can’t bear that weight, too. It’s already heavy enough with guilt, over failing Ienzo, over failing Zexion _powers_ knew how many times, over what he’d done to that poor Replica – over the Replica project in general, hells, why did he think it was good or right to create an entire _person_ and then treat him like he wasn’t one? – and over…so much. So much had gone terribly wrong, so much was on his shoulders (and he’d carry any weight Ienzo thought he had to, because Ienzo had _no fault_ in this, he’d been a _child_ ), and it was enough to suffocate him.

Which, of course, is why it had taken him so long to recover, and why he was holed up in here. Aeleus had ever been flexible, adaptable, both unyielding as the earth and yet…that perhaps was why he coped so well? He was always stable, had hardly changed while he was Lexaeus. Ienzo coping so well didn’t sit right with Even, but who was he to argue? And Dilan? Dilan was not dealing with the return of his heart well, either. That temper so like the Beast’s was back, and Even was fairly sure a few extra things were broken on top of the man cloistering himself in the kitchen. 

Even himself…well, he knew he was high-strung and anxious, even as a Nobody, and now all those anxieties and worries had a heart to make them real, make them solid emotions instead of memories of what should be there. It…wasn’t fun. 

And less fun was the knowledge Sora and Riku had brought them alongside Lea – ugh, that was another thing that sent his new heart racing again, righteous anger and resentment and justified hatred warring with a small voice that said _he was a child too, you know_ – after their…test. Thing. News of their hearts and of this Xehanort and his mission, that was one thing, stressful and terrible but somehow unsurprising. But the news of _Braig_ …

He didn’t know how to feel. Not…not because of how new emotions were to him, right now. Not– it was just– betrayal, hurt, rage, frustration, disbelief, disgust, and…grief, perhaps. And some sense of understanding: he remembered when Braig had come to the Garden, oh, over twenty years ago now. How much of a wreck he was, like a loss had punched a hole in his heart that left him hollow and empty. He’d thought Braig had recovered, found a home and a family here, but…whatever Xehanort offered was too tempting to pass up. 

Well, he hoped Braig was happy now! A _vessel_ , honestly. And willing, too, what an idiot. He deserved it. That bastard, lying to them all for a decade, knowing what Xehanort was planning for them and just _watching_ , letting them be played like fiddles. He’d thrown them all away! For what, for a fleeting chance at something long lost, whatever it was, a chance he had to know was all lies? Idiot. It served him right.

It…powers, he couldn’t hold onto that indignation and bitterness as much as he’d like to. He _worried_. He was…it was…damn his heart, damn how he felt about that obnoxious bastard, damn it all. It–

There was a crash from deeper in the lab. It was quickly followed by several more, the clatter of something being upended and its contents spilling. Even was on his feet in a moment, calling his shield and heading in that direction – he was endlessly grateful that despite no longer being Nobodies, they still had access to their abilities from that time, and…was it a Heartless? He couldn’t imagine some didn’t still lingered, and–

It was Braig.

Even’s first thought was a knee-jerk, furious idea to just hit him with his shield, hard as he could, maybe kick him for good measure. It would be the least he…he…he was _hurt_. “Braig!” He cried, the shield gone immediately as he dropped to his knees to examine him. He wasn’t even conscious, spilled across the floor in a tangled heap of spidery limbs within that blasted black coat, ponytail coming loose – it was odd to see, he should have been in uniform again, why wasn’t he in uniform again? – and the overturned cart of surgical tools told him what had made that noise. “Braig!” He repeated, reaching to shake him gently, trying to find the injury. 

His sleeves were torn up, he realized, dark marks running across his skin like claws, like something huge had grabbed him, and an experimental press to his ribs caused a moan and a jerk that confirmed broken ribs. What had…? It didn’t matter at the moment, he decided – a rarity, to brush off learning as much as he could, but he was far more focused on healing him as much as he could, hauling the other man to a table to manhandle him onto. “Braig!” He demanded once again, realizing to his surprise that his heart was– _he_ was-– oh. Oh, damn it. Now was not the time! 

A groan broke through his self-recrimination, and he focused on Braig as his single golden eye flickered open, blinking a few times before finding Even’s.

“Ev’…” He said quietly, his eye flickering away, and then he yelped as Even grabbed him by the hood of his coat, hauling him upright to shake him.

“You _idiot!”_ He snarled, shaking him again for good measure. “You complete and utter– I can’t– I cannot _begin_ to– why would you– you _lying_ –” The rage sputtered out and he stopped to catch his breath, hands still in Braig’s collar. “I…why?” He asked quietly, more soft and sad than he thought he could ever sound again. “Why did you do this?”

Braig was silent for a long moment, staring anywhere but Even’s face, and then hands came up to try and take his – they stopped, twitched, and fell again. “I…” He began quietly, and then a smile settled on his face, shards of broken glass that reminded Even so much like when he first got to the Garden. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It doesn’t matter why. I _did_ it. I did it, and I…” 

He trailed off, and Even let go, stepping back to cross arms over his chest as if warding off a chill that’s far colder than the ice he wielded. “You what, Braig?” He asked.

“I…” He looked torn – like part of him wanted to speak, some part of him that’s in his eyes, desperate and frightened and in pain, but part of him wanted to flee, written in the tense lines of his body and how his hands held the edge of the table tight enough that his arms shook. Even thought he knew, then, who hurt him and why. A pawn that tries to step off its starting square before the game begins needs to be reminded where it stands on the board, after all.

Even stared at this mess of a man, the man who...who despite his best efforts, still held a place in his heart, who had betrayed them all, who sat here looking like he was a rabbit stuck between a tiger and a wolf…and he sighed. “Idiot,” he said. “Spit it out already, then. We may be angry, but you won’t find any torches and pitchforks here. Well, not from _us_ , anyway. No telling what the committee’s going to do.”

A quick sharp bark of a laugh escaped Braig, then, and his hands came up to grab Even’s lapels. “I fucked up, Ev’,” he said, voice small and quiet. “I’m in trouble. I don’t…this isn’t what I wanted. I…”

“I know,” Even said, gently. “ _We_ know. You’re not alone, you daft fool.” Lea was going to save Isa, and, well…he put his hands on top of Braig’s, squeezing them tightly. “You’re family,” he told him, and it hurt to see Braig look about to cry at those words. “We’ll fix this, Braig. I promise.”

Braig tugged his hands free to hug Even, then, and Even froze a moment before hugging back. They’d…they would. Braig had a place to come home too, whether or not they forgave him. That’s what family was for, really. A place to return to and people who would fight for him. 

And…well. Whatever Even was. But that was a complicated tangle that didn’t matter at this moment, save for how Even’s heart beat that little bit faster like this. 

Regardless, they’d save him, their idiot. _Even’s_ idiot. No matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing just-recompleted Nobodies, honestly. 
> 
> And also honestly, I think we all overestimate just how much freedom and knowledge Xigbar has. And how afraid he is -- the two times he even makes like he's going to stand up to or attack Xehanort (after his eye is damaged in BBS, the flashback opening of KH3D when he loses his heart), he's injured or worse. That's not a very healthy working relationship. Where else is he going to flee to, if he wants to flee? All he has is the Garden.


	5. guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set a little bit after chapter four, still slightly canon divergent and post KH3D.
> 
> _"Don't you think you've done enough?"_ A harmless and frustrated outburst, but not when it's taken out of context.

The words came out sharp and heated, spit like venom, and Even’s green eyes flashed in frustration as he smacked Braig’s hand away. The lab table was a mess, cluttered and disorganized and like an explosion had gone off – well, it likely had, in the form of the Heartless over the last eleven or so years – and Even’s nerves had been worn thin the past few hours trying to put it to rights. And Braig? He _wasn’t_ helping.

He was trying, yes, but he had no idea what to do with half of the files and folders and equipment, and it was just making it worse, and it had only been a matter of time before Even snapped. 

There was a dead silence for several minutes before Even’s common sense caught up with the rest of him, and he paled, putting a hand over his mouth.

“Braig, I–” 

_Don’t you think you’ve done enough_. That was– it had been meant innocently enough, of course, but…it wasn’t hard to take it out of context, wasn’t hard to apply it to a grander scale, and judging by the look on Braig’s face that’s exactly what he’d done.

“I didn’t mean it–” Even tried, stepping forward, but Braig stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest protectively and letting out a weak little laugh.

“No, you did,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. S’…you’re right. I’ve done enough. I’m…I’ll–” He took another half-step back and though Even was no master mage like Ienzo, he could see the faint ripple in the air around Braig that was the telltale sign of him about to teleport.

“Braig!” Even shouted despite himself, closing the distance in two long strides and grabbing him by the biceps before he could go anywhere, holding him in place with a tight grip and nails digging into flesh, the room dropping several degrees as he did so. “You insufferable– where do you think you’re going?!”

Braig’s eye went wide. “Even– but–” He wiggled a little helplessly, startled at how fierce the man’s hold was. “You’re _right_ ,” he insisted. “I’ve– I’ve done enough t’you all, I shouldn’t be here, even if _you_ forgive me, I–” There was something in his eye, shadows and guilt, and– Even shook him, frustrated.

“What do you keep telling yourself in that head of yours?” He demanded. “That we all hate you, that we’re better off without you, that you burned your bridges and we won’t want you around or care to save you no matter what we say?” There was silence after that, and that and the gaze that trained itself on anywhere but Even’s face answered the question.

“…oh, Braig,” he said with a groan. “Haven’t I convinced you otherwise yet?” The answer was clearly no, and he sighed, leaning forward to thunk his head solidly against Braig’s. “…I know I’m…not good with conversation,” he began quietly. “Or tact. Or…people in general, really. It’s never been much of a problem. You know that. So I…never learned.” He snorted wryly, but the humor only lasted a moment. “I…didn’t mean what I said, Braig. I don’t mean a lot of what I say in anger. I’d hoped you knew that by now, too.”

Perhaps he had, once. But the demons in his head, in his heart…they clearly whispered doubts and fears that would take more than that to chase away. He wondered if those demons were the same as those that haunted him when he’d first come to the garden, or if these were Xehanort’s doing. Whatever the origin, though, they were hurting him, that much was clear.

“Braig,” Even said quietly. “Look at me.”

He did, single gold eye finally finding Even’s. “You’re an idiot,” Even told him. “You’re obnoxious, you’re vague and obtuse, you’ve got no concept of personal space or the idea of stopping when someone tells you to, you’re loud and rude and you are _absolutely_ not as funny as you think you are.” Braig looked confused and startled and at little bemused at this, but he remained silent. “But for some reason, I– _we…_ care about you anyway. Whatever stupid scheme you’ve fallen into, whatever your reasons, it isn’t enough for us to cut ties. You _didn’t_ burn those bridges, Braig. They might be well the worse for wear, but they’re still _there_.”

He straightened sharply, then, shaking him again for good measure. “So stop moping and feeling sorry for yourself,” he said briskly, all business once more and trying to pretend his cheeks weren’t warm from how close they’d been to one another. “And for the love of the ancestors, Braig – and I cannot _believe_ I’m about to say this – don’t take me _that_ seriously when I get angry at you. It’s not usually that deep.”

“Aw, but Ev’, I always take you seriously,” Braig said, clearly also trying to ignore his red cheeks and the wetness in his good eye. “Thought you liked that.”

“Liar,” Even said fondly, letting go of Braig’s arms. “But I do, so I’ll let you stroke my ego.” 

They both laughed at that, Braig tipping to lean his head against Even’s shoulder, and Even allowed it, letting out a quiet sigh. This idiot…what were they going to do with him?

Well, besides save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite things to explore is how Xehanort's heart shard affects people, and -- recently -- the idea that darkness and negativity isn't just anger and hate, but sorrow and despair and hopelessness.
> 
> And given that my Braig pretty clearly struggled with depression _before_ all this Xehanort shit...there's no way that right now his inner demons aren't kicked into overdrive, and there's no way that half of them don't have the old coot's voice. What a mess.


	6. realize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set probably after chapter five, still in the slightly divergent post-KH3D stuff, but also referencing across the timeline.
> 
> Because what's a good shippy one shot collection without the one where they realize they love each other?

It didn’t happen all at once.

It was a little at a time, really. Moments that added up, like slowly writing a formula upon a blackboard, or a recipe that slowly came together. That smile he’d worn with Ienzo, the very first one he’d ever seen on him – add to that his laughter, as it became more common. Stir in how he didn’t take _leave me alone_ for an answer, didn’t back off when he pushed back, and pulled him out of his shell. Mix in a dash of the thoughtfulness and sincerity hidden behind how obnoxious he could be, and top with how simply _fascinating_ he was, this man from another world, with a past and secrets and inexplicable powers.

Leave it sit for five years, and then you’ve got a crush.

Even would never want to use the…other word, the – ugh – _L-word_ , as childish as the term was. It was just…it wasn’t something he’d considered, and it was not something for someone like him. Love was for children, for people without…for people who didn’t have a calling, a life’s work, a duty to king and child and science. And _honestly._ Braig did not at all seem like the type of person who would ever feel the same way back. So it was a crush. A silly schoolboy crush, that was all. It would fade with time, of course, and he’d forget all about it. It wasn’t…he was a friend. A dear friend. That was all.

That last year, Even thought it would change. The injury, how distant Braig got, and Xehanort’s arrival and how quickly everything went downhill…it was the last thing on his mind. Even if every time he looked at him and saw the scar that cut into his cheek or the eyepatch that hid the eye he hadn’t been able to save, saw the other eye and knew that whatever had turned it gold wasn’t anything good…he had pulled away from the rest of them. And Even was sure the feelings would fade too.

But they did not. Or– rather, they did, in a sense; no heart, no emotions, nothing but the memory of once holding those feelings for the man who was now Xigbar remained behind. Like every emotion, it was distant and hard to grasp, even the memory of it uncertain and hazy – even for Vexen, whose grasp on certain emotions never wavered, still as high-strung and anxious as ever and as fragile and brittle as a thin sheet of ice – and…even if Xigbar acted the same around him, it was different. And Vexen almost forgot.

But then their hearts returned, and Braig wasn’t with them, and Braig had– what he’d done had come to light, his absence and his betrayal and the chains he’d gotten himself trapped in…

Even had remembered all over again those feelings, stronger now than they were before with a terrible intensity that came from the newness of a heart and the newness of feelings, and it almost brought him to his knees. The way he felt for Braig– the terror for his safety, the horror of what he’d done to himself, the hurt and anger of what he’d done to _them_ , the…incomprehensibility of the idea that _he might not come back--_

And then the idiot had reappeared in his life, still old and grey and worn, guilty and haunted all over again, but still managing to hold onto a smile (that Even could pretend was just for him, even if it wasn’t)…

He thought, he supposed, that he could use the L-word now. He loved this idiot man, and…even if he never said a thing, he was glad he did. Someone needed to.

* * *

It happened all at once, rather suddenly.

It wasn’t as if Braig had ever had _experience_ with the whole process of falling in love. With Aisling, with his wife…they’d grown up together, in the same small village in in Airelann. Gotten on well, and it had been– one of those situations where it was a matter of when they got married, not if. There was never a moment they’d either even contemplated loving someone else, what it would be like to.

Not to say he hadn’t loved her – he had, and the wound her death left in his heart would never fully heal – but it had simply been…expected. A small village, you grow up, you marry the girl you’ve played with your whole life, have a child with her, and then…so on and so on for generations. But then for him, it had changed and changed quickly, and with Aisling’s death he never thought…that had been _it_ for him, he thought, on the very rare occasions he’d thought about it at all.

But…in retrospect, maybe it had happened without him even realizing. Why else had he always pushed so hard? Why had he put so much effort into pulling the scientist out of his shell, out of the lab? Why had he liked his company so much when he was such a high-strung, anxious, irritable sharp-edged grouch of a man? (Then again, he hadn’t been much better for years.) Maybe, he’d thought at the time, it was because Even hadn’t actually given up on him. Had helped him with his powers, had actually wanted him to get better even if he hadn’t acted like it. But so had Dilan and Aeleus, and they were his best friends, and yet it wasn’t…

And why else, he’d wondered, had he run to Even’s lab? The first place he’d gone to when he was in need, afraid and running scared and hoping for a safe place to hide– not to Dilan, not to Aeleus, nowhere but Even. His _instinct_ had been to go to Even, of all people.

And Even was here for him, was trying to help, was chasing the demons in his head away – not the one that was latched onto whatever remained of the battered fragments of his heart, but the more metaphorical ones, the ones that were always there but had only now grown loud again – and _still_ hadn’t given up on him. Not even after everything he’d done. Even was still here, still with him, still reassuring him that it wasn’t hopeless, that they’d save him.

It wasn’t something he’d thought about even then, though.

But…Even had been working on something, fixing something broken or other in part of the lab, and the sound of a section of consoles powering up had signaled its success. Even had let out a cheer of triumph, and then caught himself, looking amazed– emotions really were so very new to them all over again, and the look of awed pleasure in Even’s smile when he turned to look at him – _look, Braig, we can feel things again,_ it seemed to say – was…

It was like a lightning bolt had hit.

 _Shit_ , was his first thought. _Oh, shit_. Then came a simple _oh_.

And…after the initial shock wore off – it wasn’t just unbelievable, it was…it was– him? And– and _Even?_ A _guy,_ of all people? – it was…well.

Well.

If he was in love with Even, then…that wasn’t so bad. It gave him something to hold onto…and that would, could possibly, make all the difference in the world when the final round of the game began. It might let him come home.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. Listen, this is my OTP and I can't believe it happened. So I'm going to share most of my oneshots and things with you, and if anyone ever has ideas throw them at me, 'cause I'll never not have muse for these.


End file.
